


This is a Place Where I Don't Feel Alone

by calrissian18



Series: Teen Wolf Coda [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Based on the Events of 3x07, Hugging, Jennifer Blake is not the devil, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek’s gaze finally broke only to refocus on his hands.  They were still held out in front of him like weapons he didn’t know how to get rid of.</p><p> </p><p>3.07 Coda - because Teen Wolf does not care that I had other shit to do today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is a Place Where I Don't Feel Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I AM BUSY WITH OTHER THINGS AND _TEEN WOLF_ JUST DOES NOT CARE. WTF, _TEEN WOLF_ , NOT COOL.
> 
> So, right now I am writing an epic-length TW fic that I started a few days before the beginning of season 3, but I decided I would keep up with the show and sprinkle whatever canon I wanted in there and leave out whatever I didn't since it was already firmly canon AU. I'm down to the wire now and I have a shit-ton of writing to do before Friday. Then I watched 3.07 this morning, which I almost decided not to do before epic TW was finished, and was ASSAULTED by this fic. (Much like what happened after 3.03 with all the Sciles *shakes head*) I was like, hmm, maybe I'll take a nap then get back to work on epic fic.
> 
> NOOOOOOOPE. YOU'LL THINK ABOUT _THIS_ UNTIL YOU WRITE IT. OR DIE. either is preferable to the teen wolf gods.
> 
> HOLY FUCK, _TEEN WOLF_ , I DO NOT EXIST JUST TO PLEASE YOU!!!
> 
> Title from The Cinematic Orchestra's "To Build A Home" because Derek totally gets a home. *aw, squishes woobie!Derek*
> 
> Also, I'm not sure if Derek ever shared with Scott that it was Ms. Blake in the boiler room with Boyd and Cora and so therefore I'm not sure if Stiles knows she's in on all the werewolf shenanigans but I'm going with no for the moment because that's how I wrote it.
> 
>  
> 
> None of my reader-y people have seen the new episode yet *wibbles* so this is pathetically unbeta'd. Forgive me but I cannot have this take up any MORE TIME than it already has.

Stiles could _feel_ his heart pumping hard in his chest.  He couldn’t imagine what it must sound like to the wolves in the room.  He tightened his fingers on Derek’s shoulder, hesitant and skittish, still not sure if this was allowed.  If Derek was simply too locked in to his own horror to react or if he was actively letting Stiles touch him, letting him offer this weak bit of comfort while Cora sobbed over Boyd.

“Derek,” Stiles started and his voice stuck the way he’d expected it would.  He cleared his throat and it was _loud_ even with Cora’s crying.  It echoed back in the room, coming back sharper, meaner.  Derek’s hands were still shaking.  They were covered in blood, _Boyd’s_ blood.  Stiles swallowed.  “Derek, you have to get up.”

No one seemed to register the words.  No one else was thinking about _the next step_.  They were all thinking about Boyd, watching his still face, stuck in some loop where the only thought was _Boyd’s dead_.  Derek was certainly dead to every single syllable.  

And didn't that expression leave Stiles feeling queasy?

 _He_ was going to think about the next step.  He wasn’t going to look at Boyd, he was going to focus on Derek, on getting him out of the water.

Stiles pulled back slightly where his hand clasped Derek’s shoulder.  It felt like an abuse of what Derek had allowed him – doing more than showing support, solidarity – but Stiles was sure he’d be forgiven later when Derek was in his right mind again.  Or, well, he hoped he would be.

Derek obediently fell back, barely staying upright but managing to keep his feet under him.  The fight had gone out of him and Stiles pushed him to stand.  His gaze stayed locked on Boyd and Cora and Stiles stood in front of him, pressing his luck and resting his hands on Derek’s sides to walk him back further.

Derek’s gaze finally broke only to refocus on his hands.  They were still held out in front of him like weapons he didn’t know how to get rid of.

Stiles tried to catch his eyes but Derek wasn’t behind them.  Not now.  He placed his hand back on Derek’s shoulder and only now did he feel the tatters of his shirt and the blood beneath his fingers.  He turned Derek towards the opening off the main foyer, pressing him down onto the couch in the next room.  He was like an agreeable doll and it left Stiles feeling more than uneasy.

“Derek, your shoulder.”

Derek looked up at him with a strange blankness and then glanced down at his shoulder, exactly where Stiles had rested his fingers.

“W-we need to do something with.  With the body,” Lydia piped up from the doorway, trembling all over but resolute.

Stiles swallowed.  Now wasn’t the time.  Now _so_ wasn’t the time.  But there wouldn’t be a _right_ time and nothing changed the fact that Lydia was right.  In that annoying way she usually was.

Cora’s head jerked up from where she was hunched over Boyd’s body, eyes flashing gold and a snarl rumbling up lowly from the very depths of her.  Lydia flinched back even as she jutted out her chin defiantly.

Derek didn’t seem to hear them.  He was lost between staring at his own shoulder and Stiles’ face like he was waiting for someone to tell him what he was supposed to do now.

Isaac sounded something close to traumatized on the other side of the room.  Stiles couldn’t see him from where he was standing with Derek, but he would bet he was still sitting in the same place, Ms. Blake within arm’s reach.  “We can’t just say he was electrocuted,” he said shakily.  “I mean, this looks like it was designed to kill.”  There was a long pause in which no one spoke and the water lapped.  “Which it was,” he added blankly.

Stiles could hear the roll of Lydia’s eyes that undoubtedly accompanied the words: “Also, the huge gashes in his side contradict that story.”

Derek flinched something awful and Stiles winced in sympathy seeing him do it.  He took a step away to glare at Lydia properly but her eyes were wide and glossy and focused on nothing but Boyd.

Isaac was looking up at her as he agreed weakly, “Right.”

Lydia cleared her throat and Stiles could see her actively trying to struggle back into her Mean Girl persona, where nothing could touch her and she lorded over everyone else.  “We need to,” she stopped, voice shaking, and held her head up higher.  “We need to redress him in dry clothes and take him out to the woods, preferably somewhere far away from the Hale house.”  She still had that trembling quality that meant she’d either just been crying or would be soon.  “Then-then we hope the Sheriff believes it was a mountain lion attack just like all the others.”

It made sense but, Stiles suspected, the rest of them wanted to consider setting the plan to motion as much as he did.  Which was to say: not at all.

Cora’s voice was rough but her words were firm.  “I’ll do it.”

Derek made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut and he looked over at the kneeling form of his sister.  “Cora—” he started desperately.

She stared back at him, anger and accusation and forgiveness and so much else contained in that gaze that Stiles doubted even Derek could parse it all out.  “I won’t be long,” she bit out, turning back to Boyd.

She heaved him up like his weight was nothing to her.  Stiles stilled halfway across the room, ready to give help she had no need for, splashing loudly with every step.  He turned to Isaac and Ms. Blake as Cora half-carried, half-dragged Boyd out of the loft, an arm around his waist like he could do more than be dead weight.  

That was another expression Stiles was never using again.

“Isaac,” Stiles said thickly and Isaac looked up at him, blinking, all too ready to be given something to do, “take Ms. Blake home.”

Isaac nodded once and helped her to stand.  She paused on the way out, turning back slightly.  She looked between Stiles and the wall between her and Derek, her lower lip trembling in uncertainty.  “Will he be—”  She stopped and raised a hand to her mouth.  In that moment it was clear she cared for Derek, and had no idea how to begin to help him now.  What their relationship was, Stiles had no idea – though he could guess.  Right now he was just more than pleased that she didn’t seem to be surprised by all the werewolf mumbo jumbo, because he did not feel up to fielding _those_ questions at a time like this.

Stiles frowned, looking back at Derek.  “He’ll be fine,” he said with conviction he absolutely did not feel.  He stared at Derek purposefully.  “Won’t you, Derek?”

Derek looked back at him, hands still splayed and shaking.  He was nothing short of... absent.

Stiles’ face twitched in a weak attempt at a smile.  “Not being overwhelmingly reassuring there, buddy.”

Derek didn’t seem to hear him.  Or he simply didn’t care that Stiles was speaking.

Stiles was still trying to will him into a response when someone grabbed his arm, _tight._  Stiles turned to see Isaac, eyes wide and crawling with desperation.  “They made him,” he said, strained.  His grip tightened up and Stiles barely held back a pained groan.  Isaac’s eyes went even more wild.  “He was wolfed out and they-they threw Boyd onto his claws.  He didn’t—He wouldn’t—”

Stiles covered Isaac’s hand with his own and carefully peeled it away, saying calmly, “Isaac, I know.”  He met Isaac’s continuously tracking gaze and said more seriously, “ _I know._ ”

Isaac nodded slightly, looking a bit lost in the motion, before he turned back to Ms. Blake.  She had frozen in the doorway like she didn’t feel safe taking a single step by herself.  Stiles couldn’t blame her for that.

He walked over to the kitchen and found a dry rag hanging on a hook by the sink.  He bunched the cloth in his palm and rejoined Derek in his living room.  He’d gone back to staring at his hands, watching every minute tremble of his fingers.

Lydia hadn’t moved from the door.  Stiles was beginning to wonder if she ever would now that she’d said her piece.

Stiles sat down on Derek’s coffee table across from him and pressed the towel to Derek’s bloody shoulder.  He didn’t so much as twitch.  “Derek.”

Derek didn’t look at him.

“Can you take off your shirt?” Stiles asked gently.  He couldn’t see how bad it was with it on.

Derek’s gaze moved up to meet his but it was just as empty as it had been when Stiles first arrived.

“Come on, I know you have a hard-on for shirtlessness,” Stiles tried jokingly but it felt fake and it scraped his throat raw on its way out.

Derek looked away and Stiles sighed.

He set the bloody rag down by his thigh and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  He made sure to stare straight into Derek’s eyes as he told him firmly, “I’m going to hug you,” Derek didn’t even blink, “and it is _going_ to be weird because you are scarily intimidating and I’m betting you haven’t been hugged in _years_ so you’ve probably forgotten how to do it.”  Stiles’ palms had started to sweat and he wiped them on the thighs of his jeans.  He licked his lip.  “And I don’t have a lot of experience hugging people who don’t really want to be hugged but I am going to hug you.”

He shifted forward and wrapped an arm over Derek’s shoulders, grasping the curve of one in his palm.  He moved the other around the middle of his back, under his arm, curling his fingers around his side.  He could feel the heave of every breath through Derek’s torso like this.  He was mostly resting his weight on the ball of his foot, his ass barely on the table as he pressed in close to Derek.

Derek didn’t hug him back.  He sat limp in his hold, but he didn’t try to pull away.  Stiles didn’t know whether or not to count that as a win when Derek was practically too catatonic to stop him.

He was on the verge of pulling back when Derek’s chin dug into his shoulder, tilted slightly towards his neck.  His arms came up slowly to grasp Stiles’ sides, wrapping over his back.  He held on harder and more fiercely as the seconds trickled by.  They didn’t part again until Stiles jerked hard in his arms when he felt cold, semi-painful pricks in his sides.

“Claws,” he told Derek softly, pulling back a bit so he could see Derek’s face.

Derek released him instantly, his eyes downcast and jaw clenched.  “Sorry,” he said gruffly.

Stiles stared at him, gauging.  Derek seemed more himself but, at the same time, worse than Stiles had ever seen him.  “It’s okay,” he said, trying to impress how true the words were with only his tone.  When he realized Derek wasn’t just apologizing for his claws.  “Derek,” Stiles said gravely, “none of this is your fault.  There was nothing you could have done.”  Derek’s gaze was still shadowed.  “Derek,” Stiles insisted but he wouldn’t look back.

They were interrupted when a panting Scott tore into the room.  Derek’s gaze grew brighter and he turned his face even further away.

“Derek,” Stiles tried once more before looking back at Scott helplessly.

Scott swallowed as though he understood the gravity of what had happened here.  He walked over to Stiles and said lowly, “Your dad’s looking for you.”

Stiles nodded, swallowing deeply.  He reached out for Derek’s shoulder and Derek obligingly turned back, but his eyes still didn’t meet Stiles’.  “Is there anything you need?” Stiles asked softly because whatever Derek asked of him, he would do.   _This_ – this wasn’t something anyone should do alone.  “Do you want me to stay?”

Derek shook his head and Stiles barely heard the murmured, “No.”

Stiles stood to leave but stopped and turned back to say, “You have to remember that none of the blame here is yours.  The Alpha pack did this.  Kali and those fucking twins, not you.”  Derek hung his head but Stiles wasn’t having any of that, he was going to make Derek think about this – _really_ think.  “Derek?”

The muscle in Derek's jaw tightened before he nodded once, sharp and stiff.

Stiles’ shoulders loosened and he said, relieved, “Okay, good.”

* * *

Stiles woke up to the hair on the back of his neck prickling.  In the end, he wasn’t terribly surprised to find Derek standing just inside his window, back resting against the frame and green eyes glinting at him in the dark.

Stiles rubbed his eyes and sat up, a distinct lack of fear behind his actions but an uneasiness about them all the same.  “What are you doing here?”

Derek shrugged.  He wasn’t wearing his leather jacket and he looked defenseless, vulnerable, without it.  Stiles didn’t know why he’d never noticed that before.  “I don’t know,” he said helplessly.

Stiles watched him for a long moment.  Every muscle in him was tense and he seemed to be fighting to stay as much as he was fighting to leave.  “Come here,” Stiles said unblinkingly, voice still sleep-scratchy.

Derek shook his head and Stiles knew he wasn’t here for comfort.  He was here because it was the only place he could think to go that wasn’t where it’d happened.  “Stiles—” he started, strained.

Stiles ignored him.  “Come here,” he insisted.

Derek held firm before practically deflating and crawling into Stiles’ bed.  He laid down in the empty space next to him and stared up at the ceiling.  Stiles didn’t touch him.  He laid back down, getting an arm under his pillow so he could prop his head up and bite the skin around his thumb while he stared at Derek.

Derek’s nostrils flared and he exhaled harshly.  “Cora won’t stop crying over Boyd,” he said hoarsely.

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that.  He settled back more heavily on his pillow and dragged up the comforter so it covered Derek, too.  Because that was his answer.

Derek curled his fingers around the edge with something like reverence and he looked back at Stiles, watching him unblinkingly in the dark as though asking him what this meant.  Stiles wasn't about to tell him the answer to a question they both knew.

He fell asleep with those eyes still on him.

 

 

Stiles woke barely a few hours later when the mattress dipped.  Derek was sliding off the end of his bed.

“Did you sleep at all?” Stiles asked the hard line of his back.

Derek’s muscles tightened and loosened within the span of the same breath.  “Some,” he said, paused on the edge of the bed.

Stiles yawned with a slight, pleased nod.  He dropped back against his pillow as Derek stood to leave.  Stiles stopped him before he could slip away completely.  “Derek.”

Derek froze and he turned slightly, still not facing Stiles but head tilted his way so that Stiles knew he was listening.  

“See that latch on the window?” Stiles asked, seemingly apropos of nothing.  He waited until he was sure Derek was looking at it, undoubtedly trying to suss out its meaning before Stiles could tell it.  “It’s broken,” Stiles said simply, “hasn’t locked in years.”

Stiles watched Derek’s next breath move through him, passing relief to every bit of him it met.  He could almost see the quick flash of a grin in the light from the stars outside his window before Derek disappeared through it.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of [tumblr feels](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/) sometimes >.>


End file.
